


Tröste mich, treib mich

by Island_of_Reil



Series: Vitruvian Titan [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 3DM Gear Bondage, Anal, Begging, Biting, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dominance, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Love Bites, M/M, Scratching, Spoilers for Chapters 42-50, Submission, Tickling, dom!armin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You know how you were telling Bertholdt that Annie was being tortured? That was …kinda hot. Not the idea of Annie being tortured. It was the way you got Bertholdt all wound up like that without even touching him. Made him lose it completely. And you sounded so … I don’t know. Like you were turned on. Like when you hold me down—”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tröste mich, treib mich

**Author's Note:**

> [Kinkmeme prompt.](http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/8414.html?thread=7912414#cmt7912414)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The title is playing somewhat on the name of the Trost District, which is the German word for “comfort” (noun). _Tröst mich_ means “Comfort me.” _Treiben_ translates to (and is cognate with) the English verb “to drive,” but it has a number of other meanings as well. Among other things, _Treib mich_ can mean “push me” — or “fuck me.”
> 
> Thanks to [Smilaraaq](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Smillaraaq/pseuds/Smillaraaq) for her excellent beta work.

Eren pulled off his boots and let them fall to the floor, then dropped his jacket alongside them, before flopping onto his bed on his back. Armin neatly lined up his own boots parallel to Eren’s bed and hung his jacket on the bedpost before he climbed in as well, stretching out next to Eren.

“I hope she’ll be okay,” Eren said. Armin could plainly read in his eyes the wish that right now, here in their room, they were three instead of two.

“She’ll be fine,” Armin said, smoothing Eren’s hair back from his forehead.

“I guess,” Eren muttered, not sounding convinced.

“I watched Mikasa when we were riding back,” Armin said. “There was never any blood on her lips, and her breath wasn’t rattling, so her lungs probably weren’t punctured. The medic will tape her ribs up, and she’ll just be a little more careful for the next six weeks. She’s healthy and strong. She’ll be fine, Eren,” he repeated.

Eren didn’t reply, but the lines of worry in his face smoothed out somewhat. They lay together quietly for a few minutes.

Finally Eren said, “There was something I wanted to tell you, but… I don’t know how you’re gonna take it.”

Armin tensed a little, then said, “Okay. Tell me.”

“Well… you know how you were telling Bertholdt that Annie was being tortured?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“That was…” Eren swallowed. “…kinda hot.”

When Armin just stared at him, Eren turned bright red and stammered, “Not— not the idea of Annie being tortured. It was the way you got Bertholdt all wound up like that without even touching him. Made him lose it completely. And you sounded so … I don’t know. Like you were turned on. Like when you hold me down—” He stopped abruptly, still flushed, his eyes darker than before.

Though heat began to rise in Armin’s belly, slow and subtle, the comparison didn’t sit right with him. Bertholdt was an enemy, a monster. Eren… well, yes, technically Eren was a monster, too. But he was precious to humanity. And to Armin.

Concealing his unease, he whispered, “Really?” When Eren nodded, avoiding his eyes, Armin raised his head and took Eren’s left earlobe into his mouth, sucking gently and letting it slip out from between his lips. When Eren shuddered against him he felt a sharper stab of heat.

“Yeah,” Eren breathed, then turned his head to brush his lips against Armin’s, over and over, until the kiss caught wet fire.

Around the midpoint of their training years, as childhood began to float away on a tide of hormones, they’d started to kiss and neck and fondle one another to orgasm. Within a few months they were fucking. Armin had let Eren take the lead in everything. He’d been favored by neither the growth spurt nor the confidence that had blessed Eren, and for the longest time he couldn’t quite believe that his best friend — brave as he’d always been, and growing beautiful as well — wanted a scrawny, fearful weakling like him. Especially in a barracks full of boys who’d begun to ripple with muscle and self-assurance, lion cubs nearly grown.

Then, a few months ago, there had been the Battle of Trost. The world hadn’t really changed, Armin knew; it was no more deadly than it had been before. But Trost had been the 104th’s trial by fire. And most of them had survived.

In no small part, they’d survived thanks to Armin. And then Eren had survived a second time. Again, thanks to Armin.

He’d thought about that a lot in the days leading up to the tribunal, then after the Survey Corps had taken custody of Eren. At some point during their subsequent month of separation, he realized he had begun for the first time in his life to walk with his head up, his spine straight, meeting people’s gazes instead of ducking them.

After dinner on his first night at the castle, Armin gathered up his courage and approached Captain Levi with a request. He quailed inwardly under the cold scrutiny of his new commanding officer, but he didn’t break eye contact once. Finally Levi shrugged and said, “I’ll be locking you in for the night with him. If he transforms and kills you, that’ll be on you, not me.”

“He won’t, sir,” Armin replied, face solemn, heart buoying.

After Levi had turned the key in the lock and gone back upstairs, Armin and Eren spent a mad five minutes tumbling over one another, grinding and thrusting, tearing at clothes, pulling at hair, mouths uniting far too sloppily for it to be called kissing.

When they were finally naked, Armin knelt astride Eren, pinned his wrists down, grinned, and spoke the words he’d been thinking about saying for the past month.

“Know what I’m going to do to you?” he whispered. Eren didn’t respond, just stared up at him, dazed and dark-eyed and slack-mouthed. “I’m going to touch and kiss and lick you everywhere, Eren. _Everywhere._ And then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”

Eren whimpered and went entirely limp. Or, rather, _almost_ entirely limp.

Each time they were together, Armin pushed Eren a little harder. Digging his nails into his shoulders and leaving red half-moons. Biting him just hard enough to hurt. Slapping his ass. Ordering him to beg to be fucked. The last time, tying his hands together over his head.

Eren took it all, never balking or complaining, notwithstanding that they both knew he could have overpowered Armin in a second if he’d wanted to. Armin would have sworn that every time he pushed a little further he could see Eren’s cock twitch with a fresh surge of blood.

Now, hands firmly on Eren’s shoulders, Armin pushed him backward and said, letting his gaze harden, “Get naked for me, Eren.”

Eren, blushing again, sat up and slid to the edge of the bed, then stood and fumbled with the straps of his 3DM Gear. After a seeming eternity, the straps lay on the floor next to Eren’s jacket and boots, and his shirt joined them a second later.

Armin drank in the sight of Eren’s lean-muscled shoulders and arms, then let his eyes wander down his hard chest and taut belly. He could just see the top of the vee running down and inward from Eren’s hipbones, but no more of it for a good minute, because when Eren was excited he was no more deft at unbuttoning his trousers than he was at unbuckling his Gear straps. Though his reserves of patience were usually boundless, Armin found himself clenching his hands against the bed: He wanted to tear Eren’s trousers right off his body, send the buttons flying.

Finally Eren got the last button undone and began to shove his trousers and underwear downward simultaneously. When his cock sprang free, nearly parallel with his belly, Armin unconsciously licked his lips. A moment later Eren kicked the wad of garments out of his way and stood naked before Armin.

“Good,” Armin breathed. “Now give me your Gear straps.”

With a puzzled look, Eren crouched to retrieve the straps as bidden. When he straightened, Armin stood and took them from him.

“Lie down again. On your back. And spread your arms and legs out.”

Eren’s face was scarlet now. He sat back down, drew his legs up and over the edge of the bed, and made a spread-eagle of his body.

Armin didn’t move for at least a full minute, other than to run his eyes up and down Eren. Naked and displaying himself like this, he reminded Armin of illustrations he’d seen in one of his grandfather’s old books — the artist’s name, he seemed to remember, was da Vinci — and later of others in the textbooks on Grisha Jaeger’s shelves. They had been published for educational purposes. Armin had been drawn to them for that reason, true, but … not only for that reason. Even before he’d fully understood why, he’d found them beautiful.

Eren, too, was beautiful. Nothing about him was ill-made, Armin thought: from the curves and angles of his facial bones to the summer-green of his eyes, from the musculature honed by several years of military life to the trail of fine dark hair that ran from his lower belly down to encircle his cock. His cock was beautiful, the head like a pulsing red heart, the veins under the foreskin like climbing vines. And when Armin stroked it or sucked it, or purposefully ignored it, the sounds Eren made were almost too beautiful to bear.

He noted that Eren was squirming a little under his gaze, and that his cock was now pressing into his belly. The heightened anticipation was a side benefit of making Eren wait while Armin took the sight of him in. Finally he grinned at Eren, pleased to see him bite his lip nervously in reaction.

Without speaking, Armin stepped closer to the bed, roughly grasped the wrist that lay nearer to the edge, and wound a strap around it. Eren caught his breath but didn’t speak. Armin looped the strap around the bedpost behind it, then buckled it and pulled on the end to tighten the loop. He picked up Eren’s bound wrist a bit more gently this time and flexed it back and forth, satisfied that its movement would be tightly circumscribed but that Eren’s circulation wouldn’t be hampered.

With one knee on the bed, he leaned forward and bound Eren’s other wrist similarly with a second strap. Then he leapt back to his feet, moved to the foot of the bed, and attached Eren’s ankles to the posts there. Grinning widely again, he sat back down on the edge of the bed, then crouched on all fours over Eren, straddling his body.

Eren’s eyes were more black than green now, his lips slick and bitten. A blindfold might have sharpened his pleasure, but it would have cheated Armin out of watching his expression. As for gags, Eren had worn one earlier today. Putting another one on him would have been cruel.

Also, maybe more importantly, Armin wanted to hear him.

He grabbed Eren’s face in both hands and kissed him, rough and wet, sweeping the inside of his mouth with his tongue. When Eren thrust his own tongue into Armin’s mouth, Armin nipped the end of it. With a muffled cry Eren screwed his eyes shut, tears leaking out from behind the lids.

“You remember, right,” Armin murmured against his ear, “that if you need to, you can order me to stop and untie you?” Eren swallowed and nodded. Armin lightly traced his pectoral muscles with a finger. “What’s the word I gave you, Eren?”

Eyes still closed, Eren whispered, _“Trost.”_ The word for comfort, now also a word for a crossroads. A crossroads for humanity, and a crossroads for them themselves.

“Good boy.”

No sooner were the words out of Armin’s mouth than he slapped Eren hard across the face. Eren, whose eyes had still been closed, whined loudly, and Armin slapped him again from the opposite direction just as hard.

“You’re mine,” he hissed in Eren’s ear as Eren continued to whimper. “That’s just a reminder, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m going to do _whatever I want_ to you tonight, Eren.” 

He grabbed Eren’s face again, making sure his fingers dug into the skin he’d just freshly reddened, and kissed him with brutal force that pushed both their jaws completely open. His tongue probed hard into Eren’s mouth, and when he was done he didn’t so much release Eren as throw his head backward and down onto the bed. Eren gasped and coughed and shivered, but Armin noted with smug satisfaction that he was still quite hard.

He propped himself up again on his hands and knees over Eren. He still had his shirt and trousers on and meant to keep them on for a long while: He was clothed and in charge, while Eren was naked and bound. Of course, his trousers were getting rather tight at the moment. Armin tried not to think about simply pulling his cock out and finding the flask of oil and fucking Eren damned hard and right now. Drawing things out as long as possible, keeping Eren on edge and sensitized, made for a lot more fun.

Armin extended the small finger of his right hand. He kept that nail just a little sharper than the rest these days. It dug pleasantly into the flesh at the base of Eren’s throat, just above the clavicle, and it dragged over Eren’s skin just as pleasantly. It caught in a slight divot in the collarbone itself, making Eren flinch hard, before it continued down to ripple over the fan of fibers that made up the left-hand pectoral muscle. The line it left was strong and pink against Eren’s pale-gold flesh, though no blood welled in it. Eren, head tilted back and eyes still closed, breathed heavily but made no other sound.

Or, at least, not until Armin surrounded Eren’s left nipple with his thumb and forefinger and pinched it hard, then released it only to do the same to the right nipple. Eren half-stifled his own yelp with his teeth in his lower lip. Armin had initially worried about Eren accidentally shifting into titan form in the course of some of their… more vigorous activities, whether it was Armin or Eren himself who tore his flesh. Then they learned that without any goal in mind except to lie back and take whatever Armin gave him, Eren wouldn’t transform.

Armin moved his hands back up to Eren’s armpits and drew his fingertips down Eren’s sides, light and fluttering. Eren squirmed and twisted, half-grinning, half-grimacing.

“Ticklish?” Armin breathed.

“Y-yeah.”

“Do you like this better?” 

_This_ was Armin digging four fingernails into either armpit and dragging them hard all the way down the skin he’d just titillated a moment before. In at least one weal on either side he could spot a few beads of blood welling up. Eren’s eyes bulged and he strained upward, groaning, “Argh, _fuck_ , Armin,” but he remained stone-hard.

Armin ducked his head and licked at a few of the drops, right at Eren’s waist. Eren squirmed again and gasped. “God, you taste good,” Armin whispered. “I think I need to taste more of you.”

He slid upward, arranging himself on Eren so that the bed took most of his weight but Eren could feel his erection through his trousers. The weal he’d left starting near Eren’s collarbone had paled to near, but not total, invisibility. Armin licked at the top of it, savoring the feel of Eren shivering beneath him, and traced it with his tongue down to the clavicle. When he found the little divot again, he set his teeth into it, gently gnawing at the skin over it, hands pressing Eren’s upper arms down to the bed and nails digging into the sensitive flesh on the underside.

Eren was moaning softly and almost continuously now, breaking the sweet stream of sound with only an occasional gasp. _He needs a surprise,_ Armin thought, and he moved his head up and right to bury his face in the crook of Eren’s neck and bite down hard. The moaning sharpened into a startled cry. Armin didn’t release the skin from between his teeth until the feel of Eren squirming beneath him started to change, a reaction to pain only, rather than pain on the edge of pleasure. He pulled his head back to admire the marks of his teeth, impressively deep without having broken the skin, and then he gently licked them over with the flat of his tongue.

“You taste _so_ good, Eren,” he whispered, moving yet higher to take Eren’s left earlobe into his mouth again. He sucked it with the same pressure, the perfect point between firm and gentle, that he used when his mouth was around Eren’s cock. The suggestiveness wasn’t lost on Eren, who groaned, then whined as Armin began to lick delicately around the entire outside of his ear. When he returned to the lobe again he bit down, softly at first, then with greater pressure until he could feel Eren’s squirming turn to struggling again, and he let the little smooth half-circle of flesh slip out from between his lips.

He could probably have kept biting into it harder, he thought, and Eren would have taken it, never given him the agreed-upon word or even pleaded _no_ or _stop_. Eren’s capacity to bear pain was immense. But Armin wasn’t entirely sure yet how well it was matched by Eren’s ability to transmute it into pleasure. And he didn’t care to inflict the one unless he knew it would turn into the other.

 _We have plenty of time to find out,_ he thought, sliding down again to nip at spots on Eren’s neck he knew to be sensitive, regretting that the supine position gave him no access to Eren’s nape. The irony of that thought didn’t escape him: Both of them courted death every day. But Eren belonged to him, trusted him implicitly, gave his body and his heart over to him every night. Eren deserved Armin’s care, his caution, his concern. Armin feared death and injury, but more than that, he feared being alive and whole and cradling a dead or dying Eren in his arms and sinking into a mire of shame that their very last time together had been one of unwelcomed pain and shattered trust.

“Armin,” Eren was groaning.

“Yes, Eren?” Armin eased himself off Eren to lie at his side. With his head on Eren’s shoulder he amused himself by stroking down Eren’s chest and belly, skirting just around his fiercely hard cock, alternating the pressure between firm and ticklish, occasionally leaving a deep scratch in Eren’s skin just to feel him flinch against him.

“How long are you going to…” Eren trailed off with a sharp hiss of breath.

“The answer is, as long as I want to.” He was lightly tracing the sharp vee of Eren’s hipbones now, Eren arching up to meet his fingertips. “Why, did you have other plans tonight?”

“I… I can’t take this much longer. Please…”

“Please what?” He moved his fingertips to the crease between Eren’s right hip and thigh, sliding them back and forth lightly, dipping down to caress Eren’s inner thighs, careful not to touch anything in between.

“Please…” Eren swallowed loudly. “Please suck me, Armin.”

Armin pretended to consider it, tilting his head a little against Eren’s shoulder. Then he said, “Hm. I’m not sure if that’s what you really want, Eren. You sounded kind of ambivalent, if you ask me. Would you like to try asking me again, this time with a little more enthusiasm?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sa— _ah!_ ”

Armin released the bit of skin on the inside of Eren’s thigh he’d just pinched hard. “And without the insolence?”

“Please.” There it was, the broken note he’d been waiting for, the hairline crack that he’d eventually make spiral throughout Eren. “Please, Armin. I want your mouth on me. Please.”

Armin turned his head to give Eren a light, soft kiss on his shoulder, then began to ease himself down Eren’s body, kissing the scraped and scratched and quivering skin, licking here and there, soothing, reassuring. He didn’t bite, not now; Eren had just earned himself a measure of Armin’s mercy.

He lay his head against Eren’s left hip, breathing in the heady scents of clean musk and pre-come. Eren was dripping freely, the droplets running over the head of his cock and seeping into the space between it and his belly. Armin glanced upward to note Eren’s eyes, dark and wide, fixed druggedly on his own. Without breaking the gaze, he raised his head until his lips brushed against the tip of Eren’s cock, and languidly and slowly he sucked it completely into his mouth.

The sound that came out of Eren wasn’t entirely human, but not in the way his titan form wasn’t entirely human. It was high-pitched, desperate, light with breathiness. He arched himself upward harder, a perfect bow from hips to head. Armin coughed and gagged as Eren thrust himself further into his mouth, nearly touching the back of his throat. Pulling off him with a lewd wet noise, he grabbed Eren’s hips, shoved him none too gently back down to the surface of the bed, and glared at him. Eren groaned.

“Did I _tell_ you that you could face-fuck me, Eren?” Armin asked sharply. “I don’t remember that I did.”

“Sorry,” Eren whimpered.

“Are you going to be good for me and lie still?”

“Yes.” The syllable was barely audible.

“Yes, _what?_ ”

Eren made a soft, wrecked noise with no words in it — then yelped again when Armin dug his nails into the same spot on Eren’s inner thigh that he’d pinched before. 

“You know, Eren, you’re not the only one who can stop this at any time. If you’re not going to do no more and no less than what I tell you, I can always untie you and go back to my own bed.”

“ _No!_ No, Armin, please!” Eren was almost hoarse now. “I’ll be good! I promise!”

“Then beg me again.”

Armin blinked for a brief moment at the sound of his own voice. He still recognized it as his own, but it was as deep as it ever got, and shot through with a vein of uncanny darkness. A thin cloud of _déjà vu_ rose around him, evaporating almost as soon as it had formed. Then he registered the sound of Eren panting, and then the plea, threadbare and abject: “Please, Armin. Please. Suck me.”

Armin shifted downward on the bed, sliding his palms down from Eren’s hips to his inner thighs, fighting the urge to grind his hips against the mattress. Even more slowly than before he began to take Eren’s cock into his mouth, making sure his lips slid over every millimeter of the head, working the tip of his tongue under the edge. Eren whined and moaned, broken shells of words spilling from his lips. He trembled under Armin’s palms and mouth with the strain of holding still, the muscles in his inner thighs twitching strongly.

When Armin’s lips closed around the base of Eren’s cock, he glanced upward to see Eren’s eyes tightly shut. His face was deeply flushed, his lips parted. Armin closed his own eyes and tightened his mouth around Eren, sucking steadily, finding that precise balance between pressure and gentleness.

A few seconds later he felt the first telltale spasms against the insides of his mouth. He sucked harder, moving one hand down to curl it over Eren’s balls, drawn up tightly against his body. Eren sobbed and gasped as he began to come; Armin sucked him through the orgasm, pulling spurt after spurt down his throat, draining him of every drop.

When Eren had collapsed back against the bed, sweaty and glassy-eyed, Armin gently kissed his inner thigh. Want clenched in him like a muscle. “So beautiful,” he whispered. He crawled upward on the bed again, cupped Eren’s face, and kissed him deeply while rubbing his clothed erection against the right furrow of Eren’s groin. When he felt Eren’s face contort beneath his at the taste of his own come, Armin pressed harder against Eren’s mouth and let his tongue delve deeper into it. He broke off the kiss with a soft wet sound, grinning at Eren’s moue of displeasure.

Then he began to work his way downward again. This time Eren was lax and soft beneath him, the skin of his neck and chest still flushed and damp, salty against Armin’s lips. Armin tongued the fluttering spot at the base of Eren’s throat, fancying he could taste the blood leaping through the artery beneath. It elicited a low-pitched, velvety sigh from Eren, and Armin, encouraged, continued to descend.

Eren’s nipples were already soft again. Armin ignored them for now, drawing his mouth down between the firm expanses of muscle, then down the ridges of Eren’s belly as Eren twitched slightly beneath him. Finally he touched his lips to the first few strands of fine dark hair, following the trail down until he was nosing thick brown-black curls that smelled headily of Eren, and a cock that had begun to fill with blood once more. He kissed the head softly, amused at how strongly it jerked in response while not quite half-erect, and how sharply Eren’s breath hitched. But a second blowjob wasn’t part of his plans tonight.

He rested his head on Eren’s thigh, feeling the quadriceps tighten and slacken beneath his cheek, and let his fingers trail up against the soft skin of the inner surface. Eren shivered, then gasped as a deft fingertip found his entrance and stroked it lightly. Armin caressed him there for a moment before half-rising and kneeling alongside him, leaning toward the little nightstand separating their beds. From its top drawer he retrieved a small stoppered flask. Holding it by the flange around the stopper, for a good minute he tilted its gleaming golden body this way and that just above the flame of the candle. Attempting to warm it in his hands would only waste it, he’d learned from experience.

The glass stopper slid from the flask with a soft oily pop, then clicked softly against the wooden top of the stand where Armin laid it down. With his left hand he upended the flask over the fingers of his right, pleased to feel the chill gone from the oil. He slicked his fingers against one another, coating them thoroughly before setting the bottle down next to the stopper.

This time the touch of his fingertips drew a soft moan from Eren, who arched up slightly to give Armin more access. Armin slipped the tip of his forefinger into Eren, then began to work the rest of the finger inward. Eren contracted around it, tight and clinging, demanding, devouring. Desire swelled in Armin, thick as autumn fog, and he closed his eyes briefly and sighed.

In, out, in, out his finger slid, a slick, plunging percussion accompanying the rhythm. He knew from how Eren’s head tilted back, how Eren’s ass opened to him, that Eren needed more. When Armin’s middle finger joined his forefinger, Eren groaned softly and his cock twitched visibly. _The burn,_ Armin thought, the aching stretch that straddled the boundary between pain and pleasure.

He kept his rhythm steady, unhurried though not excruciatingly slow. For all that he was painfully hard, he was in no rush to stop playing with Eren like this. His hands were small enough that more often than not he’d have three fingers inside Eren before he replaced his fingers with his cock. But not so small that the tip of his forefinger, crooked as though beckoning, didn’t brush up against the knot of flesh deep inside Eren.

_“Aaah!”_

Eren bucked upward again, pushing his clenched fists against the bed for leverage; his erection bobbed for a moment before pressing back hard against his belly. Armin, eyes unfocusing with the intoxication of lust, let his fingertip play over the soft gland. Eren’s body jolted around his fingers, seismic, like titan footsteps only a kilometer away. Tremors that left hairline cracks in Eren’s pride, raw lacerations of need in his voice. Measurements for Armin to gauge, just like the ones in Eren’s face: every drop of sweat on his temples, every deepening of the red in his cheeks, every bit of cunning swallowed up in the darkened pools of his eyes.

There was no mistaking when it was time to slip his ring finger into Eren alongside the other two. Armin made a triangle of them, pistoning them in and out. Eren, eyes closed and lips parted, counterpointed the lewd oleaginous sound with gasps and moans.

“Tell me what you want, Eren.” Armin’s voice was still unusually low and rough, though the strange darkness seemed to have faded from it.

“I… I want…” Eren’s attempt at obedience dwindled into a whine as Armin pressed more firmly into his prostate than before. His nipples jutted again, silently begging for touch, and his balls were once more tight against his body above Armin’s invading hand. Pre-come ran freely from the tip of his cock onto his abdomen, and Armin resisted the urge to lean forward with his tongue curled and swirl it up into his mouth.

“You want _what,_ Eren?” Armin hadn’t sped up the pace of his fingers, but he was shoving them harder into Eren now, as far as he could, before withdrawing them.

“… want you to fuck me.” A deep riverbed of a plea, rough with gravel and stones.

“Still can’t hear you,” Armin murmured. “I _think_ you asked me to fuck you, but I want to be absolutely sure that’s what you want, Eren. You know I would never do anything to you that you didn’t truly want.”

“Yes.” Barely a whisper now, the scrape of dry leaves in dust. “Please, Armin. Please. Fuck me.”

Armin kept his head pillowed on Eren’s thigh for a moment as he swooned, eyes half-closing, mouth dry, trousers straining. When he could catch his breath, he whispered, “All right,” and rose. He could feel the green heat of Eren’s eyes on him as he stood beside the bed undoing his buttons. His clothes fell to the floor on top of Eren’s. Just as Armin had done when Eren had undressed, Eren licked his lips at the sight of Armin’s cock springing free, curved upward and pointing at his belly.

Armin reached for the flask again. His breath hitched as he smoothed the still-warm oil over the head of his cock, working it downward over the shaft. Then he placed the little bottle back onto the nightstand and knelt on the bed, moving upward between Eren’s spraddled thighs. He could feel the heat radiating out of Eren’s body even before he pressed the tip of his cock against Eren’s opening. He wanted nothing more than to just plunge into Eren and be surrounded by that unnatural boiling heat as Eren clutched and grasped at him.

No, that wasn’t quite right. There _was_ something he wanted even more than that, and that was to make Eren beg just a little bit more.

Then they _were_ touching right there, his cockhead brushing lightly against Eren’s hole, and he mustered enough self-control to gaze mildly up into Eren’s eyes, which were wild with desperation.

“Beg me one more time,” he said, a little above a whisper, his deepened voice tinged again with the preternatural darkness. “One more time, Eren.”

Eren closed his eyes, then opened them again, bright in his burning face.

“Armin, please. Stop teasing me. Just fuck me already.”

Armin took a deep breath, pushed inward, gasped out loud at the all-consuming heat, and leaned forward and grabbed Eren’s shoulders and kissed him vengefully hard. Eren’s tongue lashed around his own, not combative but desperate, clinging, like his body around Armin’s cock. Armin eased his hips back, breaking the kiss roughly and wetly, then thrust back into Eren. Eren yelped and convulsed beneath him.

“You like this, don’t you?” he muttered, withdrawing again and ramming himself back in, feeling Eren jolt again and watching him bite off a whine with his teeth in his lower lip. “Getting fucked good and hard?”

Eren had opened his mouth to reply, but it opened even wider, and soundlessly, with Armin’s next thrust.

“I didn’t _hear_ you,” Armin growled, holding himself above and mostly outside of Eren, despite the chill of the room against his cock and the bead of sweat running down the skin over his spinal column.

“Yes.” Eren gulped. “I do. Don’t stop. Please?”

Armin grinned and drove hard back into Eren, who cried out sharply and arched upward as if he could engulf Armin completely. On the next outward stroke Armin didn’t pause at all, and within a few more thrusts his hips were working without him willing them and his powers of speech were ebbing away. Letting instinct and desire propel him, he closed his eyes and simply _felt_ : the flesh of Eren’s shoulders under his fingernails, the moist sting as his body slapped against Eren’s, the sweltering heat inside Eren and the powerful contractions of his muscles and the slipperiness of the oil.

He was going to come, and he was going to come hard. But Eren hadn’t come yet. Armin bared his teeth as he rocked back onto his knees, half-in and half-out of Eren, and then Eren’s cock was in his fist and he was roughly sliding the foreskin up and down over the unyielding shaft. “Come for me, Eren,” he grated.

Eren whined, the pitch of it rising, as Armin leaned forward and swirled his tongue over the taut purple head. The whine shattered into high-pitched grunts as Eren tried to rut upward into Armin’s hand even as it moved on him, and suddenly Eren was shooting pale pearly ribbons of come over Armin’s lips and chin. Armin, laughing in victory, moved his head back a little and kept pumping Eren until he was dry and shuddering and whimpering. Then he seized Eren by the forearms and plunged into him once, twice, thrice, a fourth time. He cried out as electricity coursed through him, down to his clenching toes and up to his prickling scalp, and comets shot across the darkness behind his lids.

He collapsed flat across Eren’s chest, his weight driving the breath out of Eren’s lungs. “Sorry,” Armin gasped, sliding off to the side and winding his arms tightly around Eren.

“Untie me?” Eren wheezed.

He didn’t really want to move just now, but he supposed it wasn’t fair that he was able to hold Eren like this when Eren couldn’t hold him in return. And Eren had been so good for him.

“Oh. Sure.”

A few minutes later the straps were on the floor and Eren was curled around him tightly, not stiff or numb in the slightest. The air of the room was cool against their sweaty skin, but Armin fancied he could see the heat radiating off Eren in little lines.

“That was _hot,_ ” Eren whispered into his hair.

“Ummm.” Armin had slipped back into pleasant lassitude; speaking just now felt like too much work.

Eren’s hand smoothed up and down over Armin’s back. “You know when you asked me to beg you for it, one more time?” He chuckled. “You really did sound just then like you sounded when you were fucking with Bertholdt’s head.”

Armin said nothing, didn’t lift his head from Eren’s chest or loosen the circle of his arms around Eren, didn’t voice the doubt that had seeped back in to dispel his languor. But, long after Eren lay still and quiet, his ribcage rising and falling in the cadence of peaceful sleep, Armin stared upward into the darkness, his mouth a flat line and something leaden sitting on his heart.


End file.
